


Week Two - Clothes

by Trojie



Series: Trojie's Pornathon 2017 [2]
Category: Bandom, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 08:41:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11353887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: It's not often you get a chance to wash your only set of clothes. But then what do you do to kill time?





	Week Two - Clothes

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Pornathon. 
> 
> Pornathon has a no-RPF rule, but I realllllly wanted to sneak in some bandom. Fortunately, concept albums are a thing that exists :D

The Killjoys don't exactly get laundry days often, but when you only have one set of clothes each, you shouldn't pass up the opportunity to clean them. 

And when you _have_ to be naked in a rare patch of actual shade, waiting out your stinking clothes soaking in the reservoir of water that's too contaminated to drink but just clean enough to be better than the dirt you're wearing, well. 

'The others are gonna be pissed they missed out on this,' says Fun Ghoul, poking desultorily at a lurking bit of cloth in the murky depths of the water.

Kobra wraps himself around Ghoul from behind. He's already hard. 'Forgive me for not being disappointed my brother isn't here,' he says, and Ghoul can _hear_ the smirk in his voice. 

'Oh, you wanna do something your brother shouldn't see?' he asks, turning in Kobra's hold. The kiss he gets is wicked and wet, and fuck, that mouth, that mouth should be _illegal_ except that, well, everything they are is illegal now. 

Especially this, and Ghoul can't help the thrill he gets out of the fucking civil disobedience of it as he slides to his knees down Kobra's body to carry out a sex act that's definitely not state-approved for the purposes of reproduction. 

Fingers land in Ghoul's hair and he presses a soft, sticky kiss, wet with as much moisture as he can work into his bone-dry mouth, to the head of Kobra's dick. He slides his lips apart, tongues at the salt-bitter, tacky taste of where Kobra's already starting to leak, and then coaxes his mouth wide and takes him down. 

Ghoul likes being on his knees in general, and he likes giving head. And he likes doing it for Kobra particularly because Kobra pets him, touches him soft and just how he likes, _watches_ him because he knows Ghoul likes an audience to his knee-crunching, back-bending performances. 

Nose pressed to Kobra's flat, sweaty belly, Ghoul breathes into the pressure of cock at the back of his throat and relaxes. Kobra takes the hint, buries his fingers in Ghoul's hair and starts to rock his hips, his thigh muscles flexing under Ghoul's tattooed fingers. 

In the distance, there's an engine note, a roar, and it isn't the Trans Am, and fuck, fucking - that's just fucking perfect. 

Kobra makes a noise, and Ghoul thrusts his hand down to start jerking himself off, fucks his mouth down over Kobra's dick sloppy and urgent, because he's damned if some fucking dracs are going to rob him of the first decent chance at an orgasm he's had in three weeks. 

'Jesus Christ,' says Kobra faintly, but he's fucking Ghoul's face now and yeah, that's fine, that's just perfect. Ghoul's body is thrumming and hot for it, yes, yes, just, fucking - the hand that's still around Kobra's hip grabs hard and pulls him even further in, then pushes him off, and Kobra groans and looks down into Ghoul's eyes and comes hard across his face and his neck, dripping slipping wet and shiny. He thumbs Ghoul's lips, smearing the slick taste, and Ghoul's body jerks so hard he lurches forward, face pressed messy into the cradle of Kobra's hips and cheek against his spent cock, and comes all over his feet, gasping. 

He's trembling, shaking, but the sound of engines approaching is louder, too loud, and Kobra pulls him to his feet even as he's already scrambling for a footing. 

They haul their wet pants out of the cistern and drag them on, shivering with the shock of the cold from the water even as the heat of the desert day and their fuck-stupid clumsy bodies start to go to work from either side. 

No fucking drac is getting the jump on Fun Ghoul and the Kobra Kid. 

Two corpses later and Ghoul's face is itching. Kobra reaches back into the cistern for a shirt and uses it to wipe the drying come, the sand, the blood off him. 

'Fuck, now I'm gonna have to wash the fucking thing again.'


End file.
